A cathouse…but not THAT kind of cathouse.
Three cats live in my house: Beajoulais (black, gray & white), Babbaluche (orange tabby) and Bogie (black tabby). Conversations abound.
I insulted Babbaluche today. I told him, “Your hairball looks like Donald Trump’s hair.” He didn’t respond. But he did give me a dirty look.
Me to Beajoulais: “Why did you just puke into your water bowl?”
Beajoulais: “Um…it’s time to change the water?” “Better than a “landmine” on the rug?”
Babbaluche was tapping me in the middle of the night. Sleepily, I said, “What do you want?”
He replied, “Scratch me to sleep.” Like I have a choice. He will keep tapping until I respond to his liking.
My sarcastic response was, “I’m here to serve you. Your wish is my command. 24/7. I know who the boss is here.” Then he licked me with that sandpaper tongue and I melted. Maybe I ,too, crave attention. Like a Kardashian. Was that a CAT*call?
Bogie cat*er*wauling down the hall in the middle of the night, “I’m so lonely.”
“Bogie” I called out. “Come on little guy.”
His response, “Here I am,” as he CAT*a*pults onto my chest with a thud.
Beajoulais has a bad habit of spraying in the same spots, over and over, to mark his territory. I spray a no-mark concoction, over and over, to no avail.
It’s our You spray, I spray game. Nobody wins. I told him, “Beajoulais, I’m gonna stick a cork in you!”
Beajoulais replied, “Land mines are in your future.” CAT*a*clys*mic event that would be.
Now if that didn’t gross you out, try this: when you’re loving your cat up, they’re so into it that they forget to swallow and therefore, drool. We have three droolers saying, “I love this!” The toothless Babbaluche takes it further. He gums anything and everything in sight…including himself. We have one rule: no gumming the girls, a.k.a. ta tas.
We just replaced our sliding door with French doors. No big deal in our world. In their world, CAT*a*stroph*ic! All three of them asked, “What have you done to my life?” The original opening door was moved 2 feet to the right. It might as well have been 2 miles. All of them go to the original door site to be let out. Instead of the door, there is now a screen there. And there they wait, and wait, and wait to go out. It took three days of working with each one to re-program them. And we thought we were the creatures of habit!
Babbaluche gave me a scowling meow with a wrinkling of his nose. Interpretation: this food sucks. Finicky feline.
“Try this you little-spoiled varmint.” He asks for food dozens of times a day with a commanding meow. What’s a mother to do?
Two of the three cats go to bed with us every night. At about 8 p.m., Babbaluche will stare at me asking, “Isn’t it time to go to bed?”
I reply, “No Bob…not yet. I’m sorry.” And then he goes to bed and enters a CAT*a*tonic state. I fight for my space. Cats sleep more than any other mammal, up to sixteen hours a day. If you have more than one cat, you need a king size bed.
Beajoulais climbs into bed telling hubby, “Let’s snug and you can scratch my belly. I will purr you to sleep if you do.” And he does. Both are blissfully happy.
Quite often, these three are CAT*te*gorical in their demands. Cat*naps, food and attention are high on their list. All of them are love “sluts”. Beajoulais will stand on the computer keyboard facing you until his needs are met. Babbaluche will follow me around all day long, like a lost soul, looking for love. Even when I’m showering. I’m not going to describe his behavior with my underwear on the floor. It’s embarrassing! Bogie will give you this come hither look as he wiggles around, hoping I will brush him. After awhile, he ricocheted off the wall and is off to another adventure. He’s the incorrigible teenager. The best bumper sticker I ever saw was: I’m the mother of a teenager. Now I understand why some species eat their young.
Cats have no morals. They will sleep with anybody and kill anything. Thank goodness all my boys are fixed. I think they’re sweeter not having to think about sex all the time. Too bad we can’t neutralize the killing instinct. During a fancy dinner party, Bogie pranced up to the arcadia window directly in front of the dining table and proudly deposits a dead rat for all the guests to see. I don’t know what was more embarrassing: that it was a rat or that it was dead. Bogie sat there waiting for praise for this gift. He was disappointed. I was mortified.
Beajoulais displays Wild Kitty Kingdom the best. He will race down the hall, circle the entire living room like it is a Grand Prix motor race course and then he goes all-terrain climbing the mountains of kitty condos we have…eight to be exact. And then he might repeat the course. Cats can run up to thirty-one miles per hour. I know cats get bored easily. They ARE one of the most intelligent animals on the planet. And they may have pent-up energy. But sometimes, I wonder if there is something wrong with that cat.
The Huffington Post says that cat owners, a.k.a. cat people share a lot of the same personality traits as cats. Supposedly, we are introverted, smarter, more sensitive and more non-conformist. Forget counseling. I feel better about myself already!
You know what they say about cat people. We’re always gushing disgusting cutesy stuff about our furry felines. Well, guess what? Here’s your platform. I want to hear your stories. Maybe I will CAT*a*log them. Or let the cat out of the bag. It could be the CAT*a*lyst that we need. Let’s talk!